Depression is serious. It has a life force, but also the potential to be a death force. It has an energy that is powerful and capable of imprisoning you. You can’t ignore it and hope it’ll go away. You can’t simply say “Oh, I’ll get over it.” It isn’t a matter of willpower. You have to recognize its immense strength. You have to fight it, as you would any other enemy.
There’s a big difference between being depressed and merely feeling temporarily depressed. Please don’t let your depression define you. It can be one of many elements that impact your life on any given day. It’s good to acknowledge it when it’s there and then decide how you will fight it. Depression is so real and dangerous that it must be figured out. Whatever your path, please don’t ignore it. Use every resource, your faith, or a mentor, and don’t be ashamed to get professional help if you’re not making progress. There is free help available online, there are twenty-four-hour crisis call centers, but no one can help you if you don’t open up. I’ve heard people say, “Oh, eventually it will pass.” Sadly, that isn’t always true. I’m still grieving about teenagers who were clearly depressed and committed suicide recently because they felt trapped, with nowhere to turn. I wish I could have talked to every one of those kids. I know how real depression is, and that’s one reason why I’ve written this book. Speaking openly about depression takes away its power.
Depression wants you to feel hopeless. But there are other resources that live within our hearts—prayer, resilience, joy, gratitude, love, compassion for yourself and your emotional fragility—that will surface and give you not only hope but strength. Still, sometimes depression is so overwhelming that we can’t find our resilience and strength on our own. At such times we need others to show us that those qualities still live inside us.
Just when you’re convinced that this is the day the cloud is starting to lift, it returns for another day, another week, another month. That’s reality. Just as we have to be patient with others, we have to be patient with ourselves and the brutal mood disorders that assault our sanity. We have to be patient with our impatience. The cloud will lift. It always does, but not always when we need it to.
By now you know that I’ve always worked hard, and I’m grateful for that. In the past, I’ve used my work ethic as a defense against depression. I’m the kind of person who pulls herself together and goes out and does what needs to be done. I know it isn’t easy and that, yes, even getting out of bed can seem impossible. But work for me was sometimes a blessing and a way to avoid dealing with my problems. I now accept that work alone will not conquer depression, not entirely. For many years I continued to struggle with overeating. I realized that even though my life was different in many ways, I had so much more in common with other people. I began hearing about others who grew up as the only person of color in their community, feeling isolated in their community: people who felt like outsiders; people whose families were successful, but their success didn’t transfer into their own lives; people who felt less-than. I would wonder. I would ask about discrimination they had experienced; in some cases yes, in others no. But it did not surprise me to see how many people connected with what I was expressing in my music.
I was recently in Paris and met a young man of color who warmed my heart when he told me that The Velvet Rope had saved his life. I don’t know his entire story, but I felt the truth in his eyes. He was shaking as he approached me and when we talked, even though it was briefly, with very few words, our hearts connected. He told me that he was using the Internet in a wonderful way. He said he was building a website where people could come and just have a dialogue about their lives, about their pain. What he gave me was precious. I felt such joy to know that the music I had written in 1996, as I opened up, has helped others deal with their own lives and struggles with depression. It’s so good to talk about our troubles together.
Work helped. It always does. But it didn’t chase all the blues away. I continued to struggle, and struggling often meant overeating. The comfort of food seemed to ease the discomfort of my moods. I received more meaningful comfort, though, from family, friends, and fans who, having sensed my discomfort in The Velvet Rope, opened up their hearts.
So many things can block the true you. For example, racism is very real and powerful. My thoughts go to Reg, who had a privileged background and didn’t feel authentically black.
“I wasn’t even sure what ‘authentically black’ meant,” he said, “but that didn’t matter. I knew I lacked authenticity. Other guys were from the projects or the streets. Even if they came from middle-class neighborhoods, those neighborhoods were predominantly black. Once again, I felt like an outsider. When I was rejected for membership in a black fraternity, I retreated into a shell and stayed there for the next four years. I made good grades and graduated with honors, but I never got past the velvet rope.”
Reg’s next move was to Europe. He lived in Paris, learned French, and got a job as the assistant to the publicist of a famous designer.
“No matter how well I spoke the language and did my job,” he said, “I still felt inauthentic. I loved the culture, I loved the work, loved the people I met, and yet I couldn’t shake this notion that I was trying to be something I wasn’t.”
Reg stayed in France for five years. From there he went to China, where the economy was booming and the opportunities were unlimited. His amazing facility for language allowed him to learn Chinese in only six months. His past experience paid off. He began his own firm, specializing in publicizing Chinese fashion designers in Europe. He did extremely well and soon had beautiful apartments in Shanghai, Paris, and London. Magazine articles were written about his success. His services were in demand, and Reg became a celebrity in his own right.
“I flew from one country to another,” he said. “I was never in a city for more than three days. There were exciting meetings with exciting personalities, exciting plans for the future. Now when I went to a fashion show, I was escorted to a prime seat in the first row. There was no velvet rope I couldn’t get past. I was wearing velvet sport coats and flying in private jets. But you know what? Inside I still felt empty. I heard that song you put on Velvet Rope called ‘Empty’ and realized it was about me. It was about someone who had a fantasized romantic relationship on the Internet. There were all sorts of men who were attracted to me and I to them, but that nagging self-doubt deep inside kept me away from real romance. Despite my resources, despite my high profile, when it came to intimate relationships I lived in the world of make-believe. I was afraid of going out there and getting rejected. There were sexual encounters, but most of them short-lived and even anonymous.”
Things went downhill for Reg. He developed a cocaine addiction that nearly did him in. He fell apart and nearly lost his business. When he completed a long period of rehab, he spoke to me of the experience.
“My entire life has been about filling up that famous hole in the soul. It turns out not to be a hole, though, but a bottomless pit. Prestige, drugs, luxury apartments—you name it. None of it gave me what I lacked. Self-respect. Self-love. I had to be stripped down to nothing to realize that the running had to stop. I had to look at myself for who I am, accept who I am, and find, through the grace of a divine power, an appreciation for myself, flaws and all.”
I wanted to know what rehab was like for Reg.
“There was group therapy,” he said, “as well as individual therapy. I did a lot of journaling and also attended twelve-step meetings. But the biggest eye-opener for me was this simple realization: I hadn’t been taking care of myself. And, to be honest, I didn’t even know what it meant to take care of myself. That had never been part of my life. When they spoke of surrendering and admitting that I was powerless over the mess I had made of my life, I didn’t know what they were talking about. How could I surrender? I was the one who had graduated college, moved to France, moved to China, learned both languages, built up a thriving business. I had the power. I was in control. And I could never give up that control. ‘Whe
n you decided to enter rehab,’ said one of the counselors, ‘you decided that this job—repairing your soul and gaining mental health—was beyond your control. You knew you needed help. You surrendered the care of yourself to others. You admitted that you needed others to teach you self-care.’ That surrender and admission were monumental. Because the paradox is that most of us need others—other people, programs, and prayers—to show us how to care for ourselves.” Yes, and how to love.
A picture no one has seen until now.
Soul Support
Jermaine Dupri was my boyfriend for many years and remains a close friend. He made me feel beautiful in a way that no one else ever had. He praised parts of my body that I didn’t consider attractive, assuring me that they were beautiful.
“All of you is beautiful, Janet. Don’t be ashamed of anything,” he told me.
If I told Jermaine that my booty was too big or my thighs too fat, he never failed to say that I was wrong.
“I love you the way you are,” was his constant mantra.
During those days in 2006 when I ballooned up to 180 pounds, Jermaine was always positive, supportive, and loving.
To be reassured by a friend is a gift from God. Often others see the beauty in you while you, conditioned by hypercriticism, see only flaws.
Long ago, a friend gave me a helpful exercise. He said, “Look in the mirror until you see something you like.”
“There’s no part of me that I like,” I said.
“No matter, stand there until you find a part that you do like.”
I cried in front of the mirror for a long time, still unable to find a part that looked right to me. I wanted to bolt.
“Keep standing there,” my friend insisted.
Finally, glimpsing myself from the side, I liked the look of the small of my back. I liked the way it curved.
“Good,” he said. “You’ve started the journey. There’ll be other places you’ll learn to like.”
To honor that one place, I had a tattoo inked into the small of my back, a permanent reminder that positive self-regard is possible.
One day I answered the phone and heard someone I cared about crying on the other end. She said, “I’m moving out on him. He’s critical of every part of me. Whatever positive picture I had of myself is gone. I’m moving far away from him and starting a new life. I’m moving to a new coast, a new city. I’m starting over.”
“Okay,” I said, and kept listening.
“He’s like a drug that messes up my mental health. I tell myself that he can’t do me any good—and I know that’s true—but I also know he needs me. And I need him to need me. All that neediness is insanity. We keep running around in a circle like dogs chasing their tails. He cheats, he lies, he gets caught, he apologizes, he begs for forgiveness, he convinces me, he gets me back, and then he makes me crazier than ever. I gotta get away. I gotta put three thousand miles between him and me.”
I was silent for a moment and then I said, “If that’s what you need to do, go ahead and do it. But you also need to look inside and not simply run away from dealing with the issue.”
A month later Greta called from the East Coast. She had moved, found an apartment, and gotten a new job.
“Jan,” she said, “I’m flying out for the weekend.”
I didn’t want to ask her why, but I knew. The pattern continued. In fact, it still does continue.
I believe we’re either moving forward or moving backward.
“That applies almost to everything,” my friend explained. “We can change cities, countries, and hair colors, but nothing changes until we figure out how to change our attitude and belief system. We move backward when we keep doing the same things and expect a different result. We get discouraged and fall into despair. Superficial external moves—like a new wardrobe or a new apartment—just have us moving from side to side. Different scenery, same sensibility. Be careful, because all of that may be just smoke and mirrors, because it’s not going to cure your pain. But to move up, to gain a higher consciousness and a more effective way to deal with our problems—that requires faith. Faith in something bigger than yourself.”
I found faith in God as a child when my mother brought us to the Kingdom Hall of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. My mother leads a rich spiritual life. I have beautiful memories of her sitting by the beach, reading her Bible, while La Toya and I roller-skated on the promenade overlooking the ocean. As I grew older, I no longer followed every aspect of Mother’s beautiful faith, but I have never wavered in my belief in a loving and compassionate Christ. My mother exemplified that love and compassion. It really didn’t matter to me that her scriptural journey was different from mine. The beauty of her spirit said everything. In my own journey, I’ve tried to find my personal understanding of divinity. I’ve listened to preachers, teachers, rabbis, ministers, monks, priests, and anyone else who seems to be connecting to the source of love. When it comes to the spiritual life, I’m committed to having a closer one-on-one relationship with God every day.
A man I know recently went through a nightmare divorce and spoke to me about the spirit of generosity.
“When I discovered that my wife, the mother of my three young girls, had met another man in another city, my heart shattered into a million pieces. My mom had left me and Dad when I was ten, so you can imagine my reaction when my wife said, ‘You no longer interest me. You no longer excite me. I need to move on.’
“At first I didn’t believe her. Our marriage had seemed good, our children are terrific, our lifestyle is comfortable. Where were the indications that something was wrong?
“‘The indications were subtle,’ she said, ‘and you’re too insensitive to notice them.’
“‘Was it sex?’
“‘The sex between us was decent,’ she said, ‘but not spectacular. I want spectacular.’
“‘Well, can’t we work on it? Can’t we go to a sex counselor who might help us discover how to make it spectacular?’
“‘I don’t have the patience,’ she let me know. ‘Besides, it’s far more than sex. You box me in. You cramp my style. You fill up the room with your presence and there’s no room for me.’
“‘I’ll work on that,’ I replied. ‘I see that as a problem, and I promise I’ll do my best not to dominate.’
“‘You’ve tried before, and you failed.’
“‘I’ll keep trying.’
“‘It’s too late.’
“And so our discussions went nowhere. When I questioned her about her new man—what he looked like, what he did for a living—I got no response. It was none of my business. When I questioned her about how in the world she could destroy a young family like ours over an impetuous romantic fling, she said, ‘You call it a fling. I call it love. In this beautiful relationship, I’m finally allowed to be who I always wanted to be. I’m no longer suffocated or intimidated. I’m flowering as a woman with her own mind, purpose, and talent.’
“The more she spoke, the more devastated I became. There was no ambivalence in her attitude. She wanted out—plain and simple. Because I’m close to the girls, and because I knew our girls desperately wanted us to stay together, I considered using them in my determination to win back my wife. But thank God the therapist I was seeing said, ‘That’s the worst thing you can do. It’s called triangulating. Instead of pleading your case to your wife, you use your children to plead for me. That puts them in a terrible position. All that does is confuse and frighten them. They’re confused because they’re taking on an adult role, and they’re frightened because they aren’t certain that, in that role, they can make a difference. If they don’t—and chances are they won’t—their feelings of failure are tremendous burdens for them to carry. Whatever you do, don’t put your children in the middle of these emotional negotiations.’
“I listened to the professional. I kept my children out of the fray as best I could, and instead I pleaded my own case. I lost any semblance of self-respect and basically just begged my wife to tak
e me back. I wrote her letters, emails, text messages—you name it. I cried crocodile tears and literally got on my knees. I didn’t know what else to do. I love this woman and couldn’t imagine life without her. But as you might expect, the more I begged, the more repugnant I appeared to her.
“‘You’re weak,’ she said, ‘and the last thing I want is a weak man. Just move on with your life. Put this behind you.’
“How could I do that, though, when she haunted my days and my dreams, week after week, month after month? Someone said the pain will pass. ‘You’re mourning the death of a relationship. And the mourning period, although long, can’t go on forever.’ It sure felt like forever, though.
“Next came a period of bitterness and vitriol on my part. I wanted to hurt her—if not physically, certainly emotionally. I wanted her new man to cheat on her and leave her as she was leaving me. I wanted her to lose her job, lose her looks, lose her peace of mind. I hated myself for these cruel fantasies, but I couldn’t turn off my negative mind. How to stop this destructive pattern of thought? After all, I married the woman; I once loved her deeply and probably always will.
“‘Pray for her,’ said my minister.
“‘Pray for her!’ I exclaimed. ‘After what she’s done to me and our girls?’
“‘Yes,’ he repeated. ‘Pray for her. Pray for her happiness, her well-being, her spiritual and material prosperity.’
“‘If I do that,’ I said, ‘I’ll be faking it.’
“‘Faking it is fine,’ he said, ‘because in the course of faking it you will eventually come to a place where you mean it.’
“‘I don’t think so,’ I said.
“‘I do,’ he replied. ‘If stimulated by positive thoughts—especially thoughts that involve the betterment of others—the mind moves on. The mind heals itself. But to do so, the mind needs to move from stale energy to fresh generosity. Generosity of spirit.’
True You Page 9